


Danganronpa! The Genetic Opera

by SpacedustAndBoxes



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Repo! The Genetic Opera (2008)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Repo! The Genetic Opera Fusion, Confused Naegi Makoto, Crossover, Dead Nanami Chiaki, Don't Examine This Too Closely, Drugs, Enoshima Junko Being An Asshole, Enoshima Junko Being Enoshima Junko, F/M, Gore, Komaeda Nagito Being Komaeda Nagito, M/M, Makoto Naegi is sick, Makoto is ADHD (probably won't go super in depth with this), Makoto is Hajime's son, Minor Kirigiri Kyoko/Naegi Makoto, Multi, Naegi Makoto-centric, One-Sided Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito, Sick Komaeda Nagito, Sickness, Tags Are Hard, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Zydrate (Repo!), but like it's a fictional drug?, junko enoshima acting like a whore, possibly graphic depictions of surgery (haven't decided yet), still drugs ig, yes their last names are mixed up it's family stuff ok?, zydrate comes in a little glass vial
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:48:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29191065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpacedustAndBoxes/pseuds/SpacedustAndBoxes
Summary: In a world ravaged by disease and despair, a young Makoto Hinata stands on the precipice of something vast. Faced with family secrets, old grudges, and a world he hardly understands, Makoto must adapt quickly to the chaos. For every question that gets answered, three more are asked. Can he unravel this convoluted mystery before his illness gets the better of him?
Relationships: Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito, Hinata Hajime/Nanami Chiaki, Kirigiri Kyoko/Naegi Makoto
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Danganronpa! The Genetic Opera

The graveyard was dimly lit, the light of the streetlamps nearby only lengthening the shadows on this cloudy night. The moon and stars hid, as if averting their eyes, as the old wrought iron gate swung open with a creak so loud it could have been considered offensive. The man who entered was dressed as if he had come for a funeral, in a completely black suit. However, there was no funeral at this particular graveyard currently, nor would it have made sense for there to be one at this time of night. The thin man held himself with a shameful posture as he picked his way between the markers and headstones, until he found the one that he was looking for.

Across the street, unknown to the world, a young boy watched his clock tick past midnight. He considered himself lucky that his father often worked at night. Otherwise, his insomnia might have become a point of concern. He sighed as he considered it. His father worrying for his health always meant new medication. Which, in turn, meant things being adjusted, new side effects, and a whole slew of other things to make his already unfortunate life even harder to bear.

The man lowered himself to his knees, placing the flowers he had been carrying, a bundle of white roses, at the base of the headstone.

"Hello, Chiaki." The man spoke in a somber tone. "I apologize, it's been some time since I've been able to visit."

A shadow flitted between the gravestones, silent and unnoticed. She avoided the strange man, instead focusing on the task at hand. The graveyard was not the largest she had ever been in, not by far, but it would still take some time for her to find what it was she was looking for. Despite her attire, a mourner's gown, accompanied by a veil, she moved rather quickly. She disliked dresses, but it was an unfortunate necessity to avoid suspicion. Besides, the veil hid her face rather well, and would prevent her from being recognized should anyone choose to look in her direction.

In his mind's eye, the man could still see the night that she had died. He remembered it all too well. Her bloodshot eyes, devoid of their former spark. The crimson that dripped from her lips, and from the operating table she lay on. The horror in her husband's eyes, and the screeching wail of an infant...

The boy sighed heavily as he looked back to the book he had been reading. It was an old horror novel, and he had read it so many times that he was currently trying to read it backwards to see if that made a difference. Unfortunately, it didn't. He was just letting the bulb of his bedside lamp grow hot for no apparent reason. At this point he'd have to unplug the thing to shut it off if he wanted to avoid burning his hand. And burning his hand was simply out of the question, as it would almost certainly mean a lecture from his father and the end of his little nighttime hobby.

A soft sigh escaped the man. "I suppose it doesn't matter, really. I'll be joining you soon enough. Every year they tell me it will be my last unless I do something, but this year there's simply nothing to do. My body won't withstand another surgery. It's only a matter of time now. It's almost ironic. The man who cured the world cannot stop his own extinction." He paused, and then began to cough. It was a harsh, barking, painful cough. As the fit wracked his body, he pressed a white handkerchief to his lips. When he could breathe again, he pulled it away. It was bloodstained now. He had known it would be. Blood had a very specific taste, and it was one that he was getting used to.

The girl in the shadows froze as she heard the cacophony that was the man's coughing. It was a familiar sound to her. Not his cough, specifically, but the sound of someone choking as if their lungs were trying to claw their way out of the ribcage. The cough, one might think, of an old smoker. Had the man ever smoked? She had no idea. Once she was sure that no attention had been drawn to her, she continued her silent stalk through the graveyard, beginning to doubt the word of the informant that had led her to this place. However, she supposed, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Besides, she wouldn't be in trouble unless she was caught after completing her task, and that would simply not happen if there was no task here to complete.

The boy looked around his quiet room. He had always wanted to change it, but he had never been given the material with which to do so the few times he had asked, and so he was stuck staring at the same pale green walls that had been there as far back as his memory reached, and the same clean white curtains. The only thing in the room that had really changed, aside from his constant rearranging, was the bars on his window that his father had put there following an unfortunate incident the previous year.

The man took a slow, shuddering inhale, and began to speak again. The coughing fit had caused his voice to become slightly raspy. "Every day I find I regret more and more what I did to you. And, of course, every day, as I grow less and less able to hide my condition, the question of who will inherit the company is raised again and again. My own children have proven useless on that front. Your husband also had potential, but... well, you and I both know how that turned out. If only things had gone differently, perhaps you would not sleep in the earth as you do. However, I believe I've found a solution to both my heirs and my guilt. Your son. He is, after all, around the same age as my own children, and with infinitely more potential than any of them. I want to meet him, Chiaki. I want to see if he's worthy, though I have my suspicions he will be, if he's anything like his father. I know you loved him dearly. I feel as though leaving my life's work to him is enough to atone for what I've done to you." 

With that, the man stood slowly, his body shaking with the strain it took to do so, as though he were twice his age. He despised it. His own body betrayed him at every turn, and he had always fought against that betrayal any way he could. But now, it seemed, the body that was desperate to decay around him finally had him in checkmate.

The girl in the shadows crept toward the far end of the graveyard froze again as she saw the man begin to rise. He seemed to struggle with his movements, and yet he appeared to be no older than... her best guess was forty. She slowly shook her head, pushing the thought aside. She had more important things to worry about. Like the scent of freshly turned earth, and the way she felt it give beneath her feet. So her informant _had_ been telling the truth about a new burial here. She knelt, waiting for the man to leave so she could begin her work.

The man retraced his steps through the graveyard, and as he exited through that same rusted gate, his eyes travelled to the house across the street. It was an old house, and had once been abandoned. But no longer. In fact, it had been years since the house had been vacant at all. At the thought of who resided inside, behind those darkened windows, the man felt his lips curl into a sad smile. "I would have given you the world..."

The boy frowned, noticing a shadow through his window. A man was standing beneath the lamp across the street. He seemed to be looking for something. It took the boy a moment to realize that he was watching the house. His curiosity got the better of him, and he approached the window.

When she was sure he was gone, the girl removed a small trowel from the folds of her dress, and she began to dig. It was easiest when the grave was fresh, and the dirt was soft. She hummed to herself as she worked, moving with surprising speed. She was very good at her job. After all, Kyoko Kirigiri had been a graverobber for most of her life.

As the man's eyes travelled the house's familiar shape, a slight movement caught his eye. There was a single lit window that he had failed to notice, and it was the rustling curtains of that upstairs window that had drawn his attention. The white curtains parted, revealing the form of a young boy, who looked down at him with bright curiosity.

For the first time, Nagito Komaeda met eyes with Makoto Hinata. The one to whom, if he proved to be what Nagito believed, he would almost literally give the world.


End file.
